


fire, fire

by crownsandbirds



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Persona 5, Persona Series
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Coup d'état, Developing Relationship, Happy Ending, Kissing, Letters, M/M, Murder, Rivalry, Swordfights, Time-Skip, War, fire emblem: three houses - Freeform, the inherent eroticism of tilting your rival's chin up with the tip of a sword
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-18 11:26:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28991409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownsandbirds/pseuds/crownsandbirds
Summary: Amamiya's first duel in the monastery is with the leader of the Black Eagles house.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 7
Kudos: 86
Collections: Goro Big Bang 2020





	1. Chapter 1

Amamiya's first duel in the monastery is with the leader of the Black Eagles house. 

It would be difficult to escape the growing knowledge he has been developing about him even if he were deliberately attempting to do so. Akechi Goro is the closest thing there is to a celebrity in Garreg Mach - a beautiful, powerful strategist, capable of leading his men into certain victory regardless of the dangerous situation they find themselves in. As mysterious as he is intelligent, as charming as he is deadly; his past has been shrouded in pitch-black darkness ever since he arrived, trapped under the floorboards so thoroughly that no one has been able to dig a single shard of it to sunlight. It matters little: Akechi is the embodiment of imperial strength, even if he shares no royal or noble lineage to speak of. The elegance of his battle skills and his undeniable capabilities are proof of superiority over anyone who dares to defy him, and if he hasn't climbed his way up to leadership by societal status, he has done so by sheer competence. 

Amamiya supposes he should feel intimidated. The boy is superior to him in every conceivable way; but no amount of humiliation, injustice, or abuse seems to have shattered his backbone and his willpower. He would have thought himself useless to lead the rest of his life, doomed to follow orders and allow those more powerful than him to dictate his fate - the way Akechi Goro's blood-red eyes simmer against the high-sun light of noon, however, remind Amamiya that his rebellion has been simply dormant for weeks, months on end, ready to bare its teeth at the first opening. 

"Good day," Akechi says pleasantly. Usually, the comforting walls of the training grounds are destitute of crowds, since there are few in the monastery willing to take time off their spare moments to hone their skills - but Akechi's princely presence, as he cleans his gleaming sword and prepares to duel against the ill-rumored student, seems to be enough to draw in attention from all curious, idle eyes. The place is full with stares and snickers, and the occasional fawning sigh whenever Akechi spares a glance to one of them. 

Amamiya bows his head once in a curt greeting, and doesn't deign Akechi with a worded response. If injustice has taught him anything aside from the yearning for the cold taste of revenge, it has taught him to stay quiet. He has a sharper tongue than someone in his position ought to have - his cutting remarks and ironic twists of phrase earned him enough bruises and broken bones that he has learned to take his luck in silence. 

"Normally, I avoid measuring up my skills against those of my allies," he continues, voice airy with the satisfaction of a flowing, self-centered speech, twirling his sword this way and that, allowing it to capture the drips of sunlight. "I don't find any merit in defeating or being defeated by those who are meant to fight side by side with you on the battlefield - although it has been quite a while since I was last forced to accept loss. Nonetheless, whichever abilities I developed, I did over enemy foes. I find that both more motivating and fairer, albeit your mind may vary." 

"A considerable amount of words for someone who is taking his sword to fight me," Amamiya points out in a murmur, leaning against a nearby stone pillar and half-hoping he won't be caught in his snark and nonchalance - but Akechi laughs in delight, sounding like silver bells in the sea breeze. 

"You are one fascinating person," Akechi says, and his smile looks slightly more genuine when he shifts his sharp glance to Amamiya at the corner of his eye. His gloves are stark white and perfect, his house leader cape fluttering, the color of freshly spilled blood. "That is why I decided to bare my blade against yours. You are quite mysterious, Amamiya. I cannot seem to figure you out, regardless of my attempts to do so. Intelligent, charming, followed everywhere by the most convoluted rumors. I've heard everything from attempted coup d'etat to numerous murders. So? Will I be granted the honor of discovering what precisely was the severe crime you seem to have committed?"

Amamiya shrugs, continues to slouch against the stone pillar. "You've heard enough already."

"Oh?" Akechi's eyes glint dangerously. "So the rumors are true, after all?"

"I'm also guilty of starting a bar fight when I was sixteen."

That earns him another peal of laughter, precious like a stolen treasure. The crowd is silent, immovable objects playing audience to the stage they have set up between the two of them. "Ah, please, you jest," Akechi breathes out. 

"Not at all," Amamiya says, and he can feel the corner of his lips lifting up in a smirk. "My family had to pay for the damage. I have scars from where a drunkard brute smashed a broken bottle of beer against my back."

"I shall have to see it with my own eyes to believe it."

"Win this duel, and I might just let you."

This conquers errant whispers and murmurs from the audience - not contemptuous anymore, but surprised at the fact of Akechi's growing interest in the shunned Golden Deer student, at increasing evidence of his involvement. 

"Shall we begin?" Akechi says, stepping forward, shifting his body into a fighting stance. 

"And here I thought His Highness would never grow tired of exchanging meaningless quips," Amamiya purrs, and he can feel his attitude settling back inside his bones, as if Akechi's existence is enough to unfurl the flames of Amamiya's spirit back to life. 

Akechi scowls, the first time his expression melts into something different from his perfect smile. Bad feelings look beautiful on him, Amamiya muses. Genuine and human. "I have a name. I do not require titles." 

"Very well, Akechi Goro," Amamiya says, the sharp edges of the name digging on the back of his teeth, as if he has swallowed a hook. 

"Will you not take hold of a sword? It is hardly fair for me to clash against a dagger."

"I do not require swords," Amamiya sings, mocking and light. "I will win with this alone."

The arrogance of the statement should be infuriating for Akechi to hear, especially as it comes from an ill-fated student, younger and less experienced - but the easy confidence with which Amamiya says it speaks to an underlying ability to support his claim, and there's an undeniable, inescapable charm to the tilt of his head, the curve of his lips, the rich tone of his voice. Akechi's decision to challenge the most recent addition to the Golden Deer house to a duel was a purely intellectual one; he has never been in the habit of trusting people, and the whispered talks accompanying Amamiya were more extensive than they were to the average person. Curiosity was part of his reason, caution the other, and, yet - "And when you lose?"

" _ If _ I lose, it will be no more humiliation than what I am accustomed to."

Akechi catches himself smiling genuinely, and the surprise is akin to that of having the tip of a blade pressing against his neck. 

_ I should murder this boy _ , he thinks.  _ He'll end up being more trouble than I am willing to deal with - or that I can afford to handle.  _

Amamiya's eyes glimmer like crystals.

When Akechi thrusts his sword, he goes in for the kill. 

It's a dance, right from the very beginning. Amamiya is quicker on his feet than Akechi ever expected him to be, a natural grace to his movements that dodge Akechi's sword with more dexterity than he has ever had to handle before. It's easy to allow their unwanted audience to slip from his focus, easier still to narrow his entire attention to the elegant, roguish fighter in front of him, to allow his body to answer before his mind can put words to his reactions. Amamiya's dagger cuts a slash on Akechi's cheek; blood trickles down to pool on the high collar of his clothing, and he pays it no mind. When the tip of his sword tears at the fabric of Amamiya's clothes, the gash on the dark material reveals the pale skin of his ribs and a cut to drip red on the floor, and Akechi has the feverish desire to taste it. 

Their mutual, silent agreement decided for no training weapons, and each performed wound is felt intensely, adding to the crimson drops on the dusty floor of the arena. Akechi feels seen, perceived to the darkest corners of his soul, and although Amamiya knows nothing about him aside from general knowledge and his name, when their blades sing as they slide against each other, Akechi knows that Amamiya comprehends things about him that no one else in the world will ever be able to. 

It's terrifying. For a brief moment of pure focus, he considers killing him, regardless of the avid audience watching them. Amamiya Ren is a liability. An unaccounted-for variable in Akechi's game, where there should be no unknown elements at all. He has been setting his plan in motion for nearly seven years now; he cannot allow for a sharp-gazed, handsome outlier to threaten it. 

He could do it. Easily. Blame it on a dueling accident, he thinks, no one cares about Amamiya, he's been in the monastery for a week at most, he's a nobody from the Alliance, no one needs him around. 

When Amamiya activates his Crest, he's the one who nearly slashes Akechi's throat open. 

It's brief, but it shines like sunlight all over his body. It's not a shape reminiscent of any Crest Akechi can identify, even with his extensive knowledge on the subject - but it is powerful, more powerful than anything he has ever faced before. Amamiya's eyes burn like fire when he moves to attack, and Akechi only barely manages to avoid the blade; it still cuts deep on his thigh, and he howls in both pain and frustration as he twists around and slams his knee on Amamiya's guts. 

Regardless of his Crest's power, Akechi has two of them and considerably more experience on making use of such, and the duel ends with Amamiya on his knees, the tip of Akechi's sword tilting his chin up. A trail of blood trickles down the pale column of his neck - his mercury gaze is defiant and cutting, even as he's vulnerable, with the hummingbird of his life trapped in between Akechi's hands. 

Akechi's heart is fluttering inside his chest as he forces Amamiya's head up higher. The boy's lips are slightly parted in heat and adrenaline, and a red drop touches the dusty ground. 

"I could kill you," Akechi says. The idea sends heat dripping down his spine like liquid pleasure - and it does something to Amamiya too, visible in the shivering arch of his back, the choked breath that leaves his throat. 

"Will you?" Amamiya whispers, and he sounds  _ longing, _ almost. 

"No." Akechi traces the tip of his sword up to his cheek, and digs the blade just enough to leave another wound, on his face where it'll leave a scar. 

When Amamiya gets up unsteadily, he presses his hand to the bleeding cut, as if retracing the outline of a lingering kiss. 

-

“I’ve heard the craziest rumors ‘bout that bastard Akechi," Ryuji says, too loudly for anyone's good, his voice slurring with the lingering effects of the alcohol they managed to sneak into the monastery. The Golden Deer house is a mess, complete with their long-standing tradition of celebrating the beginning of every new semester with a secret party filled with cheap liquor acquired through Anna's trustful hands and brought into the common room by Morgana. It is always a lively occurrence, but with the addition of a new student, everyone seems to be happier and giddier than usual, asking Amamiya multiple questions and enjoying the mutual appreciation that comes with drinking together. 

Amamiya avoids getting drunk. It's not that he doesn't trust the Golden Deer, per se - if anything, they are the friendliest group of people he's had the pleasure of getting acquainted with in the short time he has been in Garreg Mach - but life has taught him that the minor slip-up can have dangerous consequences, and he doesn't believe in his chances of acquiring another opportunity if he lets this one go. The scars on his back ache as a painful reminder, and he takes a small sip of his liquor only so that Ryuji will stop pestering him, but it doesn't even come close enough to inebriating him. 

"Yeah, yeah, I've heard some too," Ann supplies helpfully, her cheeks flushed pink, locks of her golden hair falling on her face. "Like, that he actually  _ is  _ a bastard."

"Sharp tongues have stated before that he is the illegitimate son of a prestigious Empire lord," Yusuke adds. He sounds fairly composed, considering everything; his black eyes, however, are somewhat hazy, and he keeps sliding slightly astounded glances to Amamiya as if he is a particularly mysterious artwork that has been uncovered after decades. "Although the identity of said lord is shrouded in mystery, as it tends to be in such cases. He doesn't carry any notable surname or title either."

Amamiya considers mentioning Akechi's peculiar reaction to being called  _ His Highness _ , decides against it. 

"The nuns say that Akechi has been here since he was fourteen," Morgana whispers secretively. He is not officially a student in the monastery, and, if anything, his past is even more mysterious than that of the uptight leader of the Black Eagles; his memories have been lost to the wind ever since he ended up working in Garreg Mach, and no one could tell exactly  _ what _ it is he does - but he has been around for longer than any of them, and he knows more than they could ever hope to. "They say that he arrived out of nowhere, from one of the nearby towns, covered in  _ blood _ -"

"Aw, c'mon, now that's just bullshit," Ryuji says as he downs yet another mug. 

"I wouldn't be surprised," Amamiya remarks quietly. 

"Oh, yeah, you had that duel with him, huh? Everyone was talkin' about it! I was doing goddamn Ushimaru's class exam..."

Ann pats Ryuji on the shoulder comfortingly. "There, there, it was to make you a brawler, so it was for a good reason." 

Yusuke brushes a lock of his hair behind his ear, a satisfied smile gracing his lips. "It was quite the magnificent fight - the type of artistic stimulation I haven’t seen the likes of in months. The tip of Akechi's blade tilting Amamiya's head up towards the faint sunlight, ah, how delightful."

Ryuji moves to shove at Yusuke playfully and nearly falls back. "Dude, you're so  _ fucking _ weird!"

Morgana's blue eyes flick to stare at Amamiya. "It was quite the fight. Akechi never wastes his time with people he considers useless. I bet he likes you."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, though, friend," Ann says, which makes Amamiya wonder if his growing interest is evident on his face even in the dim light of the common room. "He's a pretty face, but he's cold as ice." 

He takes another small sip of his cup, and remains silent, and keeps his thoughts to himself. 

-

Amamiya and Akechi meet in the showers later that same night. 

It isn't a deliberate move from either of them. Akechi was seeking to clear his mind and settle his thoughts for the upcoming missions before heading to bed, in a somewhat fruitless attempt to achieve a decent night of sleep, the likes of which he hasn't had in months; Amamiya wanted merely to wash the scent of alcohol from his clothes and avoid any piercing stares like the ones he bore every time he walked around school where people could see him. 

"I see the Golden Deer maintain their semester tradition," Akechi comments lightly. 

"You know more than I do, then."

A humorless chuckle. "I've simply been here longer. Ah, but I'm sure you've heard all the scandalous rumors about me, then. We are rivals not only in arms, but also in the amount of unpleasant stories that accompany us, it would seem. It is slightly jarring to see people whisper about someone other than myself, I must admit."

Amamiya lets him talk on without interruptions. Akechi seems pleased enough to listen to the sound of his own voice, and Amamiya finds he doesn't precisely mind hearing the ever-flowing, quick remarks that flutter through Akechi's mind. As he moves to undress, however, the bearing of his back to the chill air of the baths cuts his companion halfway through.

After a moment of heavy silence, Akechi talks. 

"These weren't left by glass shards."

The whip marks on Amamiya's skin sting. "Very astute," he settles for saying. 

"How did you get these?"

"Win a second time, and I might just tell you."

Akechi's eyes glint with the proposal of a challenge. "You're quite an interesting phenomenon."

"So you keep telling me." 

"I know I was the uncouth one, commenting on your scars, and I apologize for my lack of delicacy."

"How do you mean?"

"I appreciate your elegance in not commenting about my body, is all."

Amamiya shrugs. "Why would I?"

"I receive less-than-graceful comments about my figure every time I bathe with someone else in the vicinity." Akechi gazes down to his own body, and Amamiya is coaxed to do the same, and he takes note of slim waist, perfect hips, pale porcelain skin. Akechi's beauty is untouchable and far away - and he has scars as well, strange and uncanny, dark like black rivers threading the length of his arms. Amamiya cannot even begin to fathom what sort of weapon or magical power could have possibly created them. There is no mutual desire in the way they look upon each other's bodies - unlike the simmering want trapped between their shared gazes. 

"It is why I've developed a preference for visiting the baths when everyone else has gone to bed," Akechi continues. "Hence, my surprise upon seeing you here."

"I take it you have been propositioned before, then," Amamiya says in what he hopes is an idle voice as he washes the suds from his hair. 

"More times than I particularly care to count. By men and women alike, none of which bothered to comprehend my personality or anything about me beyond my physical attributes." Akechi's upper lip curls in a pretty note of displeasure. "If I wanted to be betrothed to some washed-out lord of the lands, I wouldn't bother honing my skills."

"It would be a waste," Amamiya agrees readily, perhaps more relieved than he should be. "Your skills aren't the type to be found in any street corner."

Akechi's airy chuckle has a tinge of sadness that Amamiya could recognize anywhere, for it is a similar tone to his own - grievance over the past, resentment over what one cannot control. "You'd be surprised to know where they found me. The rumors are more far-off from reality than you can imagine."

Amamiya takes a step forward, and from this distance, he can notice, for the first time, their slight height difference; he tilts his chin up, regards Akechi with the full force of his focus. Akechi's eyes are drawn to the bandage covering the wound on his cheek, as if he intends on digging his nails there and rekindling the flame. "I can think of something far closer and more interesting to me at this present moment."

Akechi raises an eyebrow, amused. "Well, isn't your tongue sharp."

"Sharper than you think."

It wins him a smirk, one of Akechi's genuine ones, cutting at the corners, pure dangerous delight. "So they didn't whip the backbone out of you."

"They would have to kill me."

Akechi steps back and reaches for his towel, dries the lingering drops of water trailing down his skin - and when he answers Amamiya, it's with the words thrown over his naked shoulder as he moves to leave the baths. "Don't die just yet, Amamiya-kun."

Amamiya grins, teeth showing, and bows. "As you order, Akechi-senpai."

-

Akechi seeks Professor Maruki a couple of weeks later. 

Upon stepping into his office, Maruki manages to knock two glass vials over and trip on books and tomes he himself left on the floor, and Akechi muses at how delightful it is that some things never change. He hopes, as an afterthought, for the professor to remain forever an air-headed fool, so that Akechi shall never have to make him meet more unpleasant fates. 

"It's a pleasure to have you," Maruki says, and he  _ sounds _ and  _ looks _ genuinely pleased as he fidgets around, taking some tea and biscuits and setting them down on the small table between them. The office is as much of a disaster as it usually is, papers scattered everywhere, and the professor has a smudge of ink on his cheek. Akechi wonders if he should be graceful enough to point it out. "You're usually too busy to come visit, so it is a happy surprise."

Akechi gives him his brightest smile to match Maruki's innocent joy. "Thank you for having me, professor."

"Please, seat! Take some biscuits, I just bought them this morning."

Akechi takes a delicate bite of one of them, and a sweet taste floods his mouth. "Are these the chocolate biscuits from the western merchant?"

Maruki nods excitedly, not unlike a child. "Yes. They are quite delectable. I've grown a taste for them in the past months."

"Indeed, wonderful. Truly, professor, you have created the most comfortable environment in the monastery."

A nervous wave. "Don't say that out loud, Akechi-kun, there  _ is _ a cathedral here."

Akechi shrugs as he takes another biscuit for himself. Years of starving taught him to eat whenever he can, although he tries his best to be discreet about it. "I've never been the particularly devout type."

"I can see that - and, to be frank," Maruki leans in to whisper, "I'm not either."

Akechi lifts an amused eyebrow. "A professor from the Academy saying that? Heavens, you should be careful."

Maruki scratches the back of his head, intensely self-conscious, and he looks even more handsome doing so. There is a distinct delight in making him flustered, an opportunity that Akechi never passes up on. "I mean, I am a man of science before anything else! I try to find true explanations for things."

Taking the hook of the conversation, Akechi crosses his legs at the knee and takes his chances. "Speaking of which, I have a question for you. That is why I've come here today, admittedly."

"Another academical dilemma you've found during your readings?" 

"Not this time. This is a very practical question, as a matter of fact. I trust you're acquainted with the new student that was assigned to the Golden Deer house?"

"I am, yes. Amamiya Ren, was it? He came to see me on his first day. A charming boy. Polite. Kind of quiet."

"The very same. I was indulging in a friendly duel with him the other day, and, unless my eyes deceived me, he seemed to manifest a Crest I have never seen in my studies before."

"Oh?" Maruki leans forward, clearly interested. "In my experience, Akechi-kun, your eyes are more reliable than many things in this world. Do you remember its shape? Any specific details?"

Akechi reaches inside his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper, slides it on the desk. "This is what I could obtain from the brief interval of time it appeared. Are you familiar with anything like it, sir?"

Maruki pushes his glasses up on the bridge of his nose as he lifts the paper up towards the light. "This is a new pattern, no doubt about it. I would definitely like to study it." 

"If you get around to doing it, please let me know the results. I don't have the tools or the skill to perform such a research, but I am very interested in whatever it is you find. Academically speaking, of course."

Maruki nods, the precious fool. "Of course."

-

The Battle of the Eagle and Lion is a massacre, but it rises Amamiya up to the leadership of the Golden Deer.

Niijima Makoto was never a threat as the one spearheading the Blue Lions - Akechi has known her for long enough to be aware that she loses her footing in dishonest clashes, unable to deal with the reality of tricks, traps and questionable means to reach an end, and in between Amamiya's unsavory thief-like movements and Akechi's strategies, she's rendered useless quickly and swiftly. 

The real battle comes after. 

Akechi's men are well-trained to follow his orders, even when they come as subtly as in a snap of his gloved fingers or a tilt of his head. He has never required subordinates with thinking heads to achieve his goals; his mind has always been more than enough to fill the gaps, and, more often than not, other people's input slows him down, and explaining his ideas steals precious time that could be used to win. He relies on no one. His fellow students are battle material, and little else. Okumura Haru is a notable exception, if only because her abilities both with healing magic and with an axe and her intelligence mean that Akechi can leave part of the battlefield to her judgment and trust her to not commit mistakes. Yoshizawa Kasumi is a considerable asset as well, despite her young age and lack of practical experience. Still, most people aren't nearly as competent as the three of them, and he has bigger things to concern himself about than the possibly-injured egos of others. 

The most relevant of said things being Amamiya's murderous genius. 

Akechi knew the boy to be a force to be reckoned with in one-to-one duels; but he didn't expect for that to be translated in one of the most seamless displays of natural leadership that he has ever seen in his life. Amamiya's rich, deep orders resonate and carry through a surgically precise intent, and his classmates react, and, for the first time since he arrived in Garreg Mach, Akechi loses units in a mock battle. 

It should be infuriating, once more, but he has been finding that the more Amamiya steps up to challenge him, the more he's forced to show his hands, the more entertained he is. 

_ Keep it coming _ , he whispers to himself as he dashes through the open expanse of the field.  _ Make it harder. Make it better.  _

He himself is not the type of leader to stand back and watch others fight for him, not for any display of honor but to settle the bloodthirsty mania inside his bones, and so he tears his way through with his sword - and finds himself  _ smiling _ , with genuine delight, as he knocks Sakamoto to the ground. 

"Ready to get your ass kicked, Akechi?" he taunts loudly, and Akechi hits him on the head with the blunt edge of his blade simply for the pleasure of shutting him up. 

"They're putting up quite a fight, Akechi-san," Okumura says with her usual politeness as she catches up to him to heal him. Her presence forces him to settle back into his agreeable personality; the power rush and the warm feeling of other people's blood in his hands and dripping from the tip of his sword tend to shift his mind to manic heights. "We lost almost all of our mounted units, and some flying ones. Hifumi-chan barely managed to pull them out before we lost offensive power. Sticking with mages for this was a good call on your part. The new student is skilled."

Akechi rolls his neck and squares his shoulders again as the magic works its way through his wounds. Skilled is one way to put it. Every time he hears Amamiya call out orders, something in his heart flutters. "He cannot win this by himself. Golden Deer's units aren't as strong as ours. Sakamoto is out. Takamaki and Kitagawa are strong, and they can be threats but we can take care of them if we split them up. I'll get Yoshizawa to take out Takamaki first, and then you handle Kitagawa, he's terrible at close combat. Sakura could be an issue, but I don't think she's in close enough range to use offensive magic anymore. We just need to eliminate everyone before she can help them; aside from that, we shouldn't have to worry. After that, take hold of the center and leave Amamiya to me."

"Understood. Looking to have a rematch, Akechi-san?" she inquires, voice soft as she takes hold of her ax. 

He smiles pleasantly at her. "Something of the sort, Okumura-san." 

She tips her hat at him. "I bid you luck. You've always brought victory to our house."

"This time shall be no different."

His plan is carried out perfectly. Defeating the Blue Lions first meant that both the Golden Deer and the Black Eagles lost units; it's easy to split everyone and bring the rest of the battle to a series of head-on clashes that Akechi knows they have the upper hand on. Trust and leadership are not enough to win a fight, and, individually, the Golden Deer are weaker than when in a group. 

Sakura Futaba was an addition Akechi hadn't been expecting. He doesn't know what miracle it was that Amamiya's presence worked in the prodigy hermit student in order to get her to leave her room and attend a school event, but it could've been enough to turn the tides if only she had been faster - to match with her strength, Yoshizawa was an unexpected blessing for the Black Eagles earlier this year, and the two girls leveled each other out even more smoothly than Akechi could've hoped for. With his newly-acquired brawler class, Sakamoto worked quite the damage before Akechi defeated him, and he could have been more effective if he'd listened to Amamiya before charging head on without thinking. Takamaki being promoted to a flying unit was an unpleasant surprise a few weeks before the battle, but Akechi prepared for that in advance, and his strategy of slowly bringing her health down before the killing strike works wonders. Kitagawa has always been powerful from a distance, and he’s only gotten better as a sniper in the past handful of months, but so has Togo, and she put up enough of a fight against him throughout the entire time that Okumura needs little aside from two strikes of her axe to put him out of action. 

When Akechi finds himself staring at Amamiya, they are both tainted with blood from fallen foes. 

Something in his mind shifts at there being only the two of them; how familiar, how soothing that this is how it should end. Their allies are irrelevant, the rest of the battle is meaningless. 

"Long time no see, Amamiya," Akechi says, and his smile is wide and fever-bright on his lips. He is running on pure satisfaction and bloodlust, his fingers tight where they hold the handle of his weapon. 

"Are you that eager to lose, Akechi-senpai?" Amamiya shoots back, twirling his dagger with his dexterous fingers. That mysterious Crest of his is glowing golden all over his body. 

Akechi laughs out loud. "Bringing down some random, disposable units isn't nearly enough to put  _ me _ down. Give me more. Make it  _ harder _ . Is this all you have? I'll cut your other cheek to match the one I left last time. I'll give you a scar for each time I beat you in a fight."

"Hey, where did all your prince charming politeness go?"

"What, are you disappointed?" 

Amamiya's smirk tugs wider. "Not at all. If anything, I'm glad. Will you finally go all out on me?"

The slash of Akechi's sword is enough of an answer. 

-

Akechi and Yoshizawa find Amamiya in the knight's hall amidst his new friends.

"Congratulations on a battle well-fought," he says, approaching them as gracefully as he can muster. The place where Amamiya stabbed him in the thigh is still sore and unpleasant, regardless of Doctor Takemi's skillful hands, and it forces him on a slightly limping stride. "It was the first time in a long while since someone ever gave me such a fight."

"Are you here to rub your victory on our faces, Akechi?" Ryuji asks. 

_ Vulgar as always _ . Akechi wants to ask Amamiya how he managed to clash against him so well while having idiots by his side. 

"Not at all." He keeps his flawless grin on his face, unbothered. "I came to greet the newest house leader properly and in person. You proved yourself quite the indispensable asset, Amamiya-kun. You might be the first person to leave a wound on me and live to tell the tale to interested ears."

Amamiya smiles in a way that would almost look coy if it weren't mocking. "You're very kind, senpai. In the end, we lost - and the ends are what matters in our world, are they not?"

"I'm really sorry to barge in," Yoshizawa says earnestly, bowing in greeting to all the others, so intensely polite she looks like a ballerina performing a planned choreography, following an invisible script, "I agree with Akechi-senpai. Holding our ground proved more difficult than I had been expecting, even if it was my first time at a mock battle in the monastery. You guided everyone very well, and they were all very skilled."

"You might just be the hope that puts the Alliance back on its feet," Akechi adds. 

"I'm just a nobody, really."

"Don't underestimate the power of a charismatic leader."

Amamiya leans forward in that focused manner he does, where he makes it seem as if Akechi is the one person that exists. "Are you suggesting I overthrow the government?"

"It was merely a compliment. Read in my words what you will."

"Bringing a revolution to Fódlan doesn't sound all that bad."

"You have a way of making the impossible work, Amamiya-kun," Akechi says, turning on his heels and walking away before he can regret anything about this. "I wouldn't be surprised."

-

“You need a better sword, kid,” Iwai says when Akechi goes to get his weapons reforged. “Your level of fighting is too advanced for this old thing. Can’t win on a silver sword forever - it’s gonna break down on you at some point.”

Akechi smiles pleasantly at the weapons dealer. It’s a particularly hot afternoon, and the tips of his hair are dripping sweat. “Any personal recommendations, Iwai-san?”

Iwai tsks - he’s never been fond of Akechi’s princely behavior. “I have a killing edge that arrived the other day. Sharp as hell, and you might just be old enough for me to let you have it.” 

“Killing edges are expensive," Akechi says, regretfully. Despite the many rumors about his noble lineage, his funds are minimal, and Shido would never give him money to indulge in a newer sword, regardless of the excuses he might make up for it. 

“I’ll hold on to it for you, if you want. ‘M not in any rush, and I’d rather see it in capable hands than to give it to some random nobody who’s gonna fuck up and stab themselves with it. But you  _ do _ need something better. You’ve got the skills to back up a killing edge. Hell, if I ever get a wo dao I'm saving it for you."

Akechi puts his finger to his lips. "Shh, Iwai-san," he whispers conspiratorially, "you won't want your casual customers to hear about our special menu."

Another tsk. "Brat. Go talk to the Mifune girl, money comes to her like a damn charm, she might have somethin' for ya. For now, gimme that old trash - I'll make a deal for you to get at the very least a rapier."

"It's always a pleasure doing business with you," Akechi smiles as he receives the brand new rapier wrapped carefully in soft fabric. He takes it out and slashes the air for a handful of seconds; it weighs nicely in his hand, and feels more natural than whipping out his second-hand silver sword. "This moves like a dream. Thank you very much, sir."

"Yeah, yeah, now get the hell outta here before you take out someone's eye."

"I'll send Mifune-san your regards," Akechi says, waving. 

Taking the steps down to Abyss is a relief from the white-hot weather on the surface. Abyss feels like home to Akechi, far more than the upper levels of Garreg Mach ever have, and taking its sudden corners, avoiding the dead-end streets, and making light conversation with the knowledgeable individuals he finds there are all second nature to him. 

"Looking for Jose, boy? I haven't seen him in a few days." Lala-chan asks him as he passes in front of the Crossroads tavern. He flashes her his most charming smile. 

"Not today, Lala-chan," he says, taking the turn to talk to her directly. "I came to bless my day with your lovely presence."

"Oh, stop buttering me up, you're taller than me and a whole man already. I know I say this every time, but you really grew up into a gentleman."

He giggles. "You flatter me."

"So," she says, wiping a glass dry and putting it to the shelf. "What are you  _ really _ here for?"

"I came to see Mifune-san."

"Looking for some luck in love, hm? I did hear some rumors about the new student, although I wouldn't think a dashing young man like you would need the cards to give you someone to warm your bed at night."

"I need money, Lala-chan. Men grow old and ugly, gold never does."

She laughs out loud. "You have your priorities straight, boy. Chihaya-chan is at Barrow Street, as usual. I think she just opened up shop. Give her a kiss for me."

Akechi lingers in walking around Abyss for a while longer. He doesn't come here as often as he would like; he has enough rumors trailing on top of him, and he doesn't need more people whispering about the questionable companies he keeps underneath the monastery, even if said companies are considerably more trustworthy than the lords and ladies on the surface. 

When he arrives at Chihaya's shop, Amamiya is standing in front of the narrow desk with a small black-haired, blue-eyed boy next to him, and the sheer surprise of their presence is enough to drive Akechi silent for several seconds. 

"Akechi-kun!" Chihaya exclaims with a sunny smile. "Your new classmate is here!"

"Mifune-san," Akechi says in a rushed breath, trying to ignore the thrill of excitement that goes through him just at the feeling of Amamiya's eyes on him, sharp and clear. "And Amamiya-kun, what a coincidence. I wasn't aware you were acquainted with the lower city underneath Garreg Mach. You've been here for such a short time, and yet you're finding out all the innermost secrets of our institution." 

"I was the one who taught him about it!" the small boy says, in a high, demanding voice. "What are  _ you _ doing here?"

It takes Akechi some amount of willpower to restrain the displeased scowl on his face and shift it into his usual, distant grin. "I reckon I have more business here than a child."

"My name is Morgana, and I'm  _ not _ a child -"

"Akechi-senpai," Amamiya says, and Morgana glares at him for interrupting the beginning of his angry drivel. "Have you known Chihaya for long?"

"A while, yes. I'm here for a simple reading, it won't take long at all."

Chihaya clasps her hands together in almost childish glee. "Why don't I read both of your lucks at the same time? It might be interesting to see how your futures intersect with each other."

Morgana frowns, and states, "I'm going to walk around. Let me know when you're finished," to Amamiya, and leaves the three of them alone. 

In the shadows of Abyss, Amamiya's face looks sharper, older, more regal. The normally mischievous curve of his smile looks more dangerous, like Akechi could cut himself on the blade of his lips. 

"What reading are you looking for, Akechi-kun?" Chihaya inquires. "This is Amamiya-kun's first visit, so I'm going to take out both of your significators first, if that's not a problem with you."

He smiles at her. "Not at all. I'd like a money reading after, if you could be so kind."

Chihaya nods excitedly, places one hand on her chest. "Of course! Thank you for satiating my curiosity!"

They watch her go through the usual motions of shuffling the cards and taking the major arcana aside. At this point, it's familiar to Akechi - he knows the way she handles it, the way her pale fingers trace over the dark inscriptions on the back of the cards. When she takes out his significator, the distorted image of the Hanged Man faces him upside down, rope around his throat. 

Chihaya sighs, long-suffering. "You're still trapped in your past, Akechi-kun. Something is stopping your movement forward. I've been taking this card for you for years now...I really wish I could give you something different."

_ I haven't changed at all,  _ Akechi thinks.  _ How could you get something different from what has always been true? _

Amamiya eyes him strangely - Akechi avoids his gaze. 

When Chihaya takes hold of the other significator card and flips it around for them to see, Akechi nearly cackles with the sick irony of it. Two lovers entwined around each other, light pouring down on them. 

"The cards are certainly a lot more straightforward than I imagined they would be," Amamiya says, sounding extremely amused and not bothering to hide it in the slightest. "I don't even need to ask for the meaning in this one."

  
  


-

Amamiya is the representative dancer for the Golden Deer house in the White Heron Cup. 

Akechi likes to pride himself in the fact that he has the ability of predicting most of what happens around him. People function to a specific linear logic, and cracking that logic means being able to understand everyone's actions and prepare for whatever future decisions they might make. This skill is one he's been developing since childhood, and it has often meant ascertaining his survival; knowing what makes people tick, what makes them react, what pleases them, what scares them. 

He's smart. Hell, he's a genius. And, still, he didn't predict that the Golden Deer would pick Amamiya for the competition - as he watches the boy move his hips and part his lips and shift his feet, far more sensual than the considerably uptight dance requires, far smoother and more graceful than anyone else on the floor, he realizes the flaw in his thinking. He should've known; most importantly, and urgently, he should have braced himself for it. Like this, sitting with his hands twisted on top of his lap, back straight, watching the representatives, he cannot look away.

Like this, he cannot begin to remember why he should.

Amamiya is looking directly at him the entire time, keeping Akechi's gaze trapped on him, on his perfect figure and cat-like grace - it feels like the dance is meant for his eyes alone, for his personal enjoyment. The audience fades to the background as easily as it always does whenever the two of them are basking on each other's presence, and Akechi has dueled with Amamiya, has battled against him, has had long discussions about everything with him as the always-willing partner, but it is here, as Amamiya moves his fingers towards him as if coaxing him, calling him to take his hands and steal him away, that Akechi realizes he's fallen in love. 

It hits him like pure agony. 

The Black Eagles lose the White Heron Cup. Akechi doesn't even have the decency to bother to comfort Yoshizawa before he gets up and moves to follow Amamiya out of the room. 

"They say this is the spot where you're supposed to bring someone you think about," Amamiya comments idly. "I suppose we rushed it a bit, but alas."

"You're destroying my reputation," Akechi says. They are cast in the shadows outside the building, darkness covering whichever heldbacks they might still have.  _ You're destroying me _ , is what he doesn't say. 

Amamiya has the audacity to look both mischievous and coy. The golden cape laid casually across his shoulders brings out a precious light in his eyes, making his face look regal, noble. He's so handsome, Akechi thinks in frustration, words coming to his brain simple, direct and unavoidable. There is no way around the truth. Amamiya Ren is handsome, smart and captivating, and Akechi is in love. Regardless of his plans, despite his burning desire for revenge or his suffering or his hatred - like this, just the two of them in a hot night, Akechi is a boy whose heart is pounding inside his chest because a beautiful boy danced for him all night. "That was not my intention, but if it reaches my goal, I'll take it gladly."

"And what would that goal be?"

"Capture the attention of the dashing, skilled, intelligent leader of the Black Eagles, who hasn't left my mind ever since he put me on my knees with his sword under my chin."

"So you enjoy it when I make you bleed."

Amamiya steps closer, fits the tips of his fingers to the high curve of Akechi's collar; in a daze, Akechi touches his own to the two scars he left on Amamiya's cheek, traces the rough outline of them, a forever brand left behind by his capricious urge to make himself infinite. "I enjoy everything you do to me, senpai."

Akechi wishes he could say he's not thinking when he presses his lips to Amamiya's - but his mind is crystal clear. 

-

They continue dueling. They fight in every single available space in Garreg Mach - and kiss in all of them as well. 

Amamiya grows progressively more skilled, and more dangerous; often Akechi has to put in all of his ability to emerge victorious from their encounters. Maruki reaches back to him with the results of his research on the mysterious Crest Akechi saw a glimpse of on that first day - a dark variation of the Crest of Flames, with amazingly few bearers throughout history, brought back to life by Byleth, the historical figure in the books, and carried through by their lineage. Amamiya's mutation of it, however, is unique to himself; some sort of bastardization of the divine power, a shadow-like shift to the side. 

"I took the liberty to tell him about it," Maruki said, sounding apologetic. "I figured it was only fair he knew about his own ability. He was extremely surprised."

Akechi hid his scowl on the lip of the porcelain teacup. There's nothing more dangerous than a powerful person becoming aware of their own power. 

"You are quite the unique treasure, Amamiya-kun," he says one night after they have both collapsed to the floor in the training grounds. He hasn't worked this hard in months, years, maybe - the clean exhaustion of effort is driving him breathless as he struggles to pronounce his words. "A self-proclaimed nobody with a demon-like Crest of Flames..."

Amamiya swallows hard and shifts on his side to look at Akechi. His eyes flicker down to his parted lips. "I would kiss you, but -"

"Too tired," Akechi completes. 

"Precisely. You're kind of merciless, senpai. It's like - if I'm not putting in my all every single second, you'll stab me through the chest."

Akechi laughs. "Falter for a minute and I just might."

"The things you say are so tempting, I swear," Amamiya says, and he genuinely sounds winded by the prospect. 

Akechi hums, moves to lay on his back where his weight doesn't put pressure on his ribs - Amamiya aimed a mean kick at his side a few minutes ago and it's aching all the way up to his throat. "They're not, you're just strange."

"And you're breathtaking."

"So you keep telling me."

"I certainly never thought I'd find someone like you after what happened."

" _ What _ happened, by the way? I don't mean to pry, but - the scars made me think. I don't assume any of the rumors are true; you're dexterous with a dagger, but you're not the murderer type."

"I was accused of a crime I didn't commit."

"Why?"

"I found the Imperial Prime Minister raping a girl in a small town of the Alliance during a visit he was making. To this day I don't know what drove him to be so careless - he looked drunk, so perhaps that was one of the reasons. I stood up to him, and was severely punished for doing so. I was accused of having assaulted an important envoy of the Empire, and whipped for my insolence." Amamiya crosses his arms behind his head and gazes up at the cloudy night sky, eyes far away. "I think about the pain I felt every day.”

Akechi remembers the corpse of his mother hanging from the ceiling at a cheap brothel in Enbarr, black magic threading through his veins and setting his veins on fire, the agony of his demonic crest tearing through him. He remembers the pain of starvation, of cold winter nights, of loneliness. He remembers the pneumonia he had at 10 years old, not enough to kill him, just enough to ruin his lungs, a reminder that comes back whenever he strains his body too much. The shock of seeing Shido for the first time. “Some hurts are unforgettable." He pushes himself up until he's sitting next to Amamiya's head, caresses his hair gently with his fingers. "Do you desire to exact revenge?"

Amamiya's grey eyes shine like a treasure where they look up at Akechi. "With my whole heart. Some people do not deserve forgiveness."

_ This is why I'm in love with you _ , Akechi thinks as he bows his head to kiss Amamiya. 

_ - _

Amamiya gives Akechi a board game as a gift the same day a letter arrives from Shido. 

The two of them bump into each other in the courtyard just outside the dining halls, after lunch. Akechi is in a hurry, enough that he barely pays any mind to the opportunity of maintaining a conversation with the intriguing personality that has been capturing his attention for months now - his brain is working from one thought to the next as he tries to come up with the best way of going about the task that he has been given. The discreet handwriting on the paper, ordinary and unassuming, the lack of a sender's identification and the fact that Akechi was receiving a letter in the first place when he had no loved ones to speak of were enough to slash whichever string was keeping him attached to a happier reality that has never belonged to him. 

He has been foolish, and infantile, thinking that he could afford that sort of happiness. Thinking he could get away with kissing Amamiya on every dark corner they find. He has no time for tea, for lunches, for shared desks at the library during exam week. Shido is growing in power, and the more he achieves, the farther away he is from Akechi, unless Akechi manages to keep his pace constant, his skills ever-evolving. 

He has no time for things like Amamiya Ren. 

Still, his lover is not the easily deceivable type. 

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" Amamiya says, eyes glinting mischievously. "I'm right here."

Akechi should dismiss him. He should scoff at his overflowing confidence, at the proud tilt of his head, should face him with all the contempt he usually reserves for people who openly declare their desire for him. He should dismiss him with coldness and pretend all the nights spent warming up each other's bed in secret were nothing more than the indulgence in a passing whim. 

"Here, a gift," Amamiya declares as he extends the board game towards Akechi. "I saw you eyeing it at the eastern merchant's shop the other day. It fits you."

When Akechi takes the gift in hands, he knows he's lost. 

"This is -" he starts, stops. "I don't know how to show my gratitude. This is truly unnecessary."  _ You don't need to spoil me with gifts when you've already conquered so much of me.  _

Amamiya shrugs, so casually gorgeous. "It reminds me of you, and I wanted you to have it. Happy birthday, by the way."

The sheer surprise that hits Akechi is like a punch to his guts, leaving him breathless and lost. 

"How do you -" 

"I asked around."

Akechi's gloved fingers tighten sickly around the board game. He feels like a child again, lost and vulnerable and fragile. If Amamiya talks too loud, moves too fast, Akechi might be unmade. " _ No one _ knows about my birthday."

"Iwai-san knows about Chihaya who knows about Lala-chan who told me that when you arrived in Abyss, you said you had just turned thirteen. She didn't remember the precise day, but apparently you met Jose a day after, so I waited for him to show up, gave him some flowers I picked up on my last mission, he looked in his little book and told me it had been the fourth day of Garland Moon. I did the math backwards and took my chances, really."

Tears are running down Akechi's face before he notices it. 

"Hey," Amamiya says, and he sounds so  _ tender _ , damn him, "What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?"

Akechi shakes his head, covers his mouth with his hand before he lets out a sob, and cradles the game close to his chest, as if it's going to be stolen from him if he's not careful. He hates himself for crying, hates himself for breaking down like this, but his father sent him a letter telling him to kill a man, and he didn't even remember it was his birthday until the one boy he has ever loved approached him with a  _ gift _ , something Akechi truly wanted but couldn't afford, a luxury, something so minor, just to indulge in a life-long pleasure. 

"Akechi-senpai," Amamiya whispers, bringing him close and letting him weep, staining the fabric of his golden cape. The board game is trapped between their bodies, the hard corners digging under Akechi's ribs. 

"Call me Goro," Akechi mumbles between sobs. 

"Goro. Yes. Happy birthday, Goro."

Akechi nods, buries his face deeper. He feels so small. He feels so young. Amamiya is tenderly caressing his back as if to comfort him. Akechi hasn't been comforted like this his entire life. 

"Play me one day," he says. It's the only thing he can think of saying. 

"Of course, Goro."

-

He still kills Okumura Kunikazu. 

He leaves the bed he's sharing with Amamiya - with  _ Ren _ \- before the sun dawns, before anyone else in the monastery is awake. He is accustomed to this: waking up before anyone else, getting dressed in indiscernible clothes. Instead of the brand new killing edge he acquired from Iwai-san, he takes a hidden poisoned dagger, for no reason other than to keep himself safe from potential threats. The paths he will take, the ones he always takes, are dangerous in and of themselves. This is not his first assassination; he's lost track of how many lives he's slain years ago. 

Carving the bloody path for Shido to climb towards the throne has never been a peaceful mission. 

Ren doesn't stir during the entire time where he is preparing to leave. The blankets have slid from his body, and the scratches left behind by gripping hands and sharp nails during the night are visible on his naked, broad shoulders even over old scars. His lips are parted in his gentle slumber, and he's beautiful like this, enough that Akechi indulges in pressing a soft kiss to the back of his neck, simply to linger on the warmth of his existence. 

He takes the usual road. Past the sleeping peace of the lake, the empty dining hall, the silent courtyard, his old boots the only sound against the cobbled path. The sky is shimmering with darkness - he merely faces the ground and hides himself further. Takes the shattered stone steps down to Abyss, and, this time, bids no one a good morning. Whoever sees him keeps the knowledge to themselves. 

He finds Jose in the shadow library, napping on top of enormous books. 

"Hey, there, mister!" the small boy greets him, waving. His robes look silver in the darkness. "Good work."

Akechi sits on the floor next to him. "Good morning, Jose. Where are you heading today?"

Jose lifts a finger as if stating something very serious. "I'm going to cross all the borders in one day."

Akechi takes a bundle of white flowers from a hidden pocket and presents them to him. "Would you mind dropping me off somewhere on your way? It's close by. I need to be there before the sun rises to its fullest."

The trip to Okumura territory, in the intersection between the Alliance and the Empire, is quiet and fast. Before making connections and finding out the mysteries of the monastery, Akechi used to make all of his travels by foot - but Jose is a powerful boy, with means that extend beyond anyone's true comprehension. Better than that, he's discreet and strange, the horse guiding his small carriage seemingly never tires, his dialogue is difficult to understand for any first-timers who might want to ask questions, and all he requires in exchange for giving Akechi a ride to wherever he needs are rare flowers and apparently useless trinkets. It's the most peculiar deal Akechi has ever made in his life, and one of the most useful. 

Jose drops him off and waves him goodbye, singing, "Good work, mister!" as he leaves again. 

It's even easier to reach the main household. Akechi is a well-known face around here, usually coming as a messenger or a tool from Shido, and the guards let him in as soon as he steps forward and reveals his face to the light. 

The plan is seamless. Okumura is not expecting him, and he doesn't have to. Akechi stands in the middle of his personal quarters, closes his eyes and allows the power of his Crest to flow through his veins and fill the air around them. 

He arrives back in Garreg Mach before Ren has woken up, and gets back in bed to capture a few more minutes of sleep. His entire body is still cold even when Ren wraps his arms around him. 

-

Okumura Haru is in the greenhouse, as she usually is. 

It has been a week since the Blue Lions were sent to handle the tragedy in her territory, and her eyes aren't red-rimmed with unshed tears anymore. There is a tension on her shoulders, however, that betrays what she has gone through, what she needs to deal with now, the new responsibilities that have been bestowed upon her. She continues to take care of her favorite flower beds, and doesn't appear to notice Akechi until he's standing right next to her crouched form. 

"Good morning, Okumura-san," he says pleasantly. "How are the flowers?"

"Oh, Akechi-san." She smiles down at the colorful buds. "They are growing nicely. The change in weather was gentle on them."

"I'd much more easily attribute their beauty to the devoted care you maintain."

Haru bows her head. "You are very kind, Akechi-san. Gardening is, indeed, one of the few things I can do with skill, but it's always wonderful to hear such praise."

"You are a lot more skilled than you think, even with how jarring the recent occurrences have been. I am incredibly sorry for what happened. I wish I could've done something, helped in any way."

"Your pleasant company always helps," she says. "Recently, everyone has been asking me questions about what I'll do now that I took over the lordship. Sometimes, it's soothing just to have someone I can talk to about things aside from taxes or border policies or prices."

"I would think you'd rather have this conversation with Amamiya-kun, however," he says as he touches the tip of his finger to the silky weight of a flower petal. "I hear you're changing houses."

Haru grows flustered immediately. "Oh, it was nothing that you did! Please don't think I have anything against you! It's just - Amamiya-kun is so charming, isn't he? You think so too, Akechi-san, I know you do. And, besides," she looks away, and it would look bashful, but Akechi can see the perceptive intelligence in her gaze, "I don't trust what I've heard about my father's death. I think there are things they aren't telling me. My father was loyal to the Empire all his life, but I wouldn't be surprised if he was….oh, heavens, what an unpleasant subject. I am sorry to borrow your ear for such a dreadful topic."

Akechi continues to smile. "Not at all, Okumura-san. However, I do have a favor to ask."

"Yes?"

"I'm meaning to give someone a gift. Could you help me pick some flowers?"

Haru's expression lights up. "Of course! That would be a pleasure. What do you want the arrangement to mean?"

_ Goodbye. _ "Love."

-

Niijima Sae approaches him soon after they’re dismissed for the day. 

She's as composed as she has always been. The duchess is a fine leader, competent and capable and hardworking, and the lands she inherited from her father after his precocious, tragic passing (orchestrated by Shido and Akechi in their process of getting rid of the old generation in charge of Faerghus, although neither Sae nor her younger sister will ever figure that particular mystery out) are thriving under her command. She is easily manipulated, in Akechi's perspective, if only because she possesses the same fundamental flaw Makoto does of abiding by the rules, and he wonders if one day she'll realize reality has never functioned to the set of norms she follows so strictly. 

She'll probably be dead by then, and he'll mourn the loss of his teatime partner. Best for her to stay ignorant. 

“We need to talk,” she says in lieu of a greeting.

He flashes her his most charming smile, only to see her frown deepening. “Oh, Sae-san, what a pleasure to have you. Would you be so inclined as to discuss the matter over tea? I bought some Almyran Pine Needles just this morning.”

She moves a lock of her silver hair out of her eyes and concedes with a sigh. "Very well, I suppose I can make the time for it."

He clasps his hands together. "Wonderful. Let me escort you to the courtyard, then."

Akechi is pouring tea for the both of them when Sae says, "Okumura's death is becoming a problem."

"Oh?"

_ Damn bastard. Too stupid to do anything himself.  _

It should be frustrating, to see the results of his hard work thrown away due to incompetence, but, instead, Akechi reads it as the sign he knows it to be. Shido is making the one mistake Akechi has always made sure he himself would never commit in his life: growing sloppy in his confidence. 

"The heir - I believe she attends the monastery too, Okumura Haru - has no intentions of siding with the Empire. There have been talks of the land and the armies being promised to the Alliance, although I'm not sure who precisely she's declaring loyalty to."

Akechi tightens his hand into a fist on top of his lap, a single point of tension where Sae cannot see it. He knows. He knows precisely who she's talking about. "That's strange. Okumura-san did change houses a few days ago - she was one of mine, and she contacted our supervising professor to let her know she was going to study under the Golden Deer. I wouldn't be able to tell you what prompted this change, however. Okumura-san has always been quite the, ah, unassuming girl, and I haven't heard of any specific political movements in the Alliance as of late. I do try to keep myself well-informed. "

"Me as well. That's why I came to ask for your opinion."

_ Stupid boy _ , he snarls in his mind.  _ Biting off more than he can chew. If he's attempting what I think he is, Shido is going to eat him alive.  _

"Do we have movements for a war starting, milady? I didn't think I'd witness one in my lifetime. These have been peaceful times."

"The Okumura territory is wide and bountiful. It has provided for the Empire for centuries. The late lord, however, was slightly...too demanding of the country folk. His death may be shrouded in mystery, since no one knows what triggers the change from humans into beasts, but it was welcomed by many."

Akechi takes a sip of his tea, relishes on it, knowing it to be one of the few pleasures he'll be able to indulge in before his plan forces him to less-than-savory circumstances. "His estrangement from his daughter was no mystery at all, in turn. I wouldn't be surprised if she finds herself with no lost love for the Empire."

"Makoto told me about her mission to take down the beast. It was not a beautiful sight. There are still many unanswered questions about his death. Adding to that, Prime Minister Shido is a skilled man, but I'm not sure how capable he is of sustaining centuries-old agreements. The dynamics are fast-changing." 

  
  


-

Akechi doesn't say goodbye to Ren before he leaves for Enbarr. 


	2. Chapter 2

Goro doesn't see Ren again for five years. 

There is much to do. He left Garreg Mach before Shido could give the order to take over its command, unwilling to be caught in the crossfire, even more unwilling to be ordered to murder Ren. At this point, he's painfully aware of every single one of his weaknesses, and he doesn't want to be faced with any of them in his journey to achieving his goal. He keeps the board game, because he's a man, in the end, a man who was once young and in love and foolish, and he can never quite convince himself to part from the one birthday gift he ever received his entire life. 

Inside him somewhere, there is still the promise, the request he himself made.  _ Play me _ . 

The wooden pieces of the game are unplayed, untouched by any other hands aside from Goro's, who often spends time simply tracing their curves and corners, pressing his lips to the tip of the king's crown as if that can replace the warmth of a lover's kiss. 

It was a whim, an indulgence. A short time where Goro could be happy. Nothing else. 

He went to Enbarr, and he killed the feeble, old emperor, and watched as Shido's forces soared and attacked and took over the monastery. A strategic movement, and a deliberate one - capturing Garreg Mach meant capturing the one spot in all of Fódlan that could easily reach all three dominions of the country. Suddenly, Shido was a universal presence everywhere. Suddenly, there was war. Goro Akechi became a well-known name as the mightiest of his generals. Yoshizawa Kasumi followed him; Okumura Haru didn't. Her pledge of loyalty to the increasingly powerful Amamiya Ren spread as wildfire through Fodlán's political world, and things started moving fast. It's been five years since the monastery siege, and the conflict is at a standstill. 

All of this is irrelevant to Goro. 

It's only immediately relevant to him as it determines his next course of action. With the Kingdom shattered in half, he needs to coax Sae into making things easier for him; he needs to cut supply lines, create stealth plans, weaken the counterattack to the best of his abilities. Simply because he cannot die in a battlefield before he achieves the one goal he's been seeking all his life - and he cannot let Shido realize what he's attempting to do. 

He doesn't sleep; he barely eats. All of his waking moments are spent training, battling, studying or discussing their next movements. In the middle of the night, he travels to the seedier parts of the imperial capital and acquires information that the lords in their palaces will never have access to. He smiles and bows and serves tea, and takes care of both his appearance and his intellect, and deliberately makes himself attractive and pleasant to the eye. The lingering stares and the occasional stray hand that touches his body are minor irritations, easily ignored and dealt with - he becomes as famous in Enbarr as he was during his short school time, nearly as coveted as Shido, if not more so, and people start trusting him. He has no lineage, no past to speak of, no family and no kindness in his heart - but, as someone told him once,  _ anyone would allow anything to your pretty face.  _

He is given battalions, and resources, and funds. He gets access to whatever weapon he even thinks about wanting; his days of scraping coins together to get a silver sword are long gone, although he never forgets the hunger of his childhood, the misery and the pain and the humiliation. He is invited for balls and parties in sumptuous castles, dines with the most important people in all of the territory, allows old men and languishing women to covet him and fawn over him, and conquers lands and strategic points for the prime minister-turned-emperor. He walks around town with medals on his chest and a rapier lined with gold hanging from his hip. He sings and plays instruments and ignores the filthy rumors that start to grow here as well. He fills his room in the castle with books and maps and annotations (and if he keeps the one registration he has of Ren's handwriting, a silly note given to him during one of their dates, in a small wooden box away from prying eyes, no one but himself needs to know). On the battlefield, he leaves corpses as a trail wherever he goes, and ends conflicts with blood pouring from his hands and dripping from his grown-out hair, staining the merciless devil sword he favors when he's genuinely killing. 

He keeps an eye on Ren, above all, and wonders if one day they'll cross blades again. 

-

He has nightmares about the laboratory. 

It's one of the most frequent subjects taken by his dreams to torment him. Everything before that was wiped out by the experiments he was forced through - before the laboratory, memories are foggy at best. He remembers his dead mother when he found she'd killed herself, he remembers the strange daze of being on stage, he remembers the first time he took a dagger in hand, he remembers the pain of hunger, the cutting slashes of winter and the harsh sunlight of summer, but not much else. He remembers his mother's face because of a portrait he found in the bottom of a drawer before he left the wrecked room in the brothel they lived in. There's not much else aside from that. 

The laboratory, however, is so tangible and real in his mind that he can reach out and touch it whenever he wants. 

It was a dark place, hidden underground. Stone steps lead up and down and lower. There were chains on the stone walls, although they were not used in Goro. Books in languages he couldn't understand, no matter how much time he spent there - and he counted every single day. The number is still in his mind: 176 days. Mornings and nights and long afternoons wasted away in the underground chambers of Enbarr, while nameless and faceless men and women experimented on him. The bland taste of food, the stale water. The drag of the cheap clothes. The weight of his hair, down to between his shoulder blades. The piercing needle of the injections they used on him, the drag of the scalpels, the criss-cross of the stitches. 

_ Do you want to be useful _ , Shido had asked.  _ More useful than you are now _ . 

Goro was thirteen and lonely and full of rage and resentment, and he had said  _ yes _ . 

They gave him the most demonic power that could be - a bestial Crest, capable of turning others into monsters. People died to give him such ability; he witnessed death in front of him, to drain life energy, to feed the ever-growing dark power inside him. When it bloomed, it came like destruction: blackened his fingers and hands and all the way up his elbows with the touch of something evil, cursed. It burned him from the inside. He screamed until his throat bled - his fingernails were ripped out in the process of trying to somehow run away from the agony he was feeling. 

It made him into the perfect killing machine. 

176 days later, and he was released into sunlight again, and Shido gave him a hit list, a dagger, and a way into Garreg Mach. He said,  _ no one can stop you now.  _

  
  


-

The first stated suspicion comes during a war meeting.

The atmosphere is heavy with tension; the Alliance, sided with half of the Kingdom, has taken hold of Arianhod in a brilliant display of leadership and intelligence. The more Ren advances, the more it becomes clear that no one on the Empire force aside from Goro is a match for his tactical skills, that have been sharpened to near-perfection in the half-decade since their time at the monastery.

"That's not all," states the lord responsible for the mass production of weapons. A frivolous man, in Goro's experience, rude to his subordinates and subservient to his superiors. "Amamiya managed to get the Sakura lands back into order. I don't think the Futaba girl is calling the shots - she's too young for that, but -"

Goro puts on his brightest smile. "I wouldn't assume so, my lord. Lady Yoshizawa is just as young, and she's been leading our armies marvelously. Age is no statement of either competence or lack thereof."

The older lords squirm in their seats. Goro tries not to look pleased.

"Are you stepping in to defend her, General?"

"Not at all. I merely think it more...ah, prudent, so to speak, to not underestimate our enemy. Especially if we take upon consideration that it was an underestimation of the Alliance forces that lost us Arianhod."

"Meanwhile," states the Minister of Domestic Affairs, "I believe you're overstating their strengths. This loss was a first, and won't be followed by another. His Majesty will not allow it."

Goro continues to smile, takes a sip of the wine glass in front of him. "Of course he will not. We are not about to allow these ragtag rebels to take over the imperial power on this land. The Alliance was originally one of our territories, and it shall return to be such. The Kingdom is scattered around in pieces, really. There is nothing in the present circumstances ascertaining for anything outside of our victory.  _ However _ , caution is needed. To minimize casualties, evidently, and to maintain the external structure of the towns we might need to invade. It is no doubt we will take Arianhod back, but the means of that are still unclear."

"Are you saying you want to lead the operation, general?" Shido says.

"That was not my intention, albeit I wouldn't say no to a direct order, Your Majesty."

"So quick-witted," the Minister of Military Affairs mumbles, and Goro turns his bright grin at him.

"Alas, I admit it. It is all for the Empire."

"Is it, though? There is no guarantee stemming from your past or your lineage that assures your position as someone truly loyal to us."

Goro crosses his legs, takes another sip of the wine. "I know everyone in this war meeting possesses similar levels of medals and accomplishments, and all of us must be celebrated for achieving so. However, in case this isn't immediately obvious, I am freshly turned twenty-four years old, and, in five years, I've conquered the same amount of praise, perhaps more so than my lords did in the last forty. I have no lineage or royal descendancy to speak of - all the things I've managed to give to this Empire, I did out of my pure skill and ability. I have natural-born talents that have been the sole reason the balance of this war has been so easily tilted in our favor. Since the siege of the Garreg Mach monastery, I haven't lost a single clash or battle. The territory we gained, I fought for it. Unlike some less proficient individuals, I took my sword and I stepped out into the battlefield. I tainted my blade with the blood of those we have all sworn to defeat, and I daresay I was one of the few who did so. Most of you haven't ever seen the face of that one who has plagued every single one of our nightmares. I saw the corpses of my men, I saw destroyed cities, I saw the blood that has been shed, and there is not one person in this room who can confidently say they know more about what is going on in Fódlan than myself. I could head over to the Kingdom and offer my services to the Duchess, and I would turn this war around. I could even, heaven forbid, pledge my allegiance to the feared Amamiya Ren, and this council would be torn to pieces, evidenced by the fact that you can barely handle one of us, let alone two. It would certainly be more pleasant than wasting away at endless meetings with men who spent half of their life doing paperwork and the other half sending men to their deaths without stepping down from their thrones. You're right, my lord - I don't have a family to support me, I don't have a name, I don't have a title. I have nothing to speak for me outside of what I've done. If all the years I've spent in service of the Empire are meaningless because of such, then there is no argument I can use to cease those accusations."

He gets up, maintains his same pleasant voice tone. "I have been called many things before in my life, esteemed sirs, things that have no place being spoken out loud in such distinguished company. I will gracefully bear every insult that is thrown at me. But while I live, I will not stand for being called a traitor. Especially not by someone who has never taken the handle of a single sword outside of ceremonial events to receive medals he has not earned." He turns to Shido, bows. "Your Majesty, may I be excused? I have obligations to see fulfilled, and the Empire territory will not protect itself while we waste away discussing this humble soldier's background."

Shido nods - there's a slight smile on his lips. "Very well, general Akechi. You are dismissed."

"Thank you, my liege, my lords. I shall be at the training grounds in case any of you require my presence."

He leaves the room with smooth, confident steps, cape fluttering around his ankles. 

-

“This Amamiya Ren, he went to school with you, didn't he?"

Goro keeps his hands folded behind his back and his eyes fixed to a singular spot on the wall just above Shido's right shoulder. It's his usual posture whenever he has to speak directly with the emperor - the restraining nature stops him from committing any anger-driven mistakes. He cannot afford any mistakes. Not this late in the game.

Just a little more, he thinks. The stage is set, the pieces are in movement. All he needs is an opening, a single chance, one second of hesitation - he shall grasp it with all the rage and resentment he has harbored for twenty years, and he shall tear the world apart with his revenge. It will all be worth it.

"He did, sir," he answers. 

"You seem to hold some respect for him."

"Simply the admiration that I find is due given his skill at avoiding our strategies to destroy him. A fellow strategist towards another, you might say."

"How was he like, at the monastery?"

The hold Goro has around his own wrist tightens painfully, the small bones grinding against each other. "Competent, if naive," is all he says. Naive for believing in Goro, for betting on the two of them, for wasting his time on a doomed man. There are no words he can use to tell Shido about the wonder of Ren's existence. The masterpiece of his life, the constant orchestra of his words, the living, breathing magic of his mind. "Made friends easily, despite all the bad rumors about his past."

"Were  _ you _ friends with him?" Shido asks, and there is a level of contempt there, as if he finds it hard to even believe in the idea of Goro being friends with anyone at all.

Goro's grip around his wrist grows tight enough that he wonders whether he'll leave a bruise. He can feel the hard weight of his nails digging in the sliver of exposed skin left under the opening of his black glove, and wonders if he'll cut through even with the layer of fabric protecting him. His scars ache with phantom pains. Shido's words are a knife carving pain on Goro's ribs, drawing his blood, an open wound. "We dueled a handful of times."

"That's all?"

Goro remembers feverish kisses, hands tracing the curve of his waist and the inside of his thighs, lips over the dreadful scars on his arms, a heartbeat warming him up on cold winter nights. Tea time, and laughter, and discussions, studying together for exams late into the evening, just the two of them in the library. Collapsing to the floor of the training grounds, blades crossed together. Going on missions, challenging each other to see who defeated the most enemies. Lazy, lingering mornings when they were on break from classes, caresses and soft words and gentle sunlight streaming through the windows. Returning from an assassination, hands red with death, and hiding under blankets again, knowing he would be held tight as if he'd never left in the first place. A wooden board game, corners digging on his stomach. A tarot card, facing the two of them.

Goro nods, firm. "That's all."

  
  


-

It happens while he's in the middle of fulfilling another one of Shido's requests. 

They've become less and less frequent since the war started, but also more complicated - some of them require every single inch of Goro's stealth ability and knowledge of the lesser-known paths in the capital. Even so, they are all carried out to perfection. Goro has never been in the habit of failing. 

The mission itself goes by smoothly, as usual. It is an indulgence, really, the exhaustion dragging at his body that convinces Akechi that stopping by at a seedy tavern in the side of the town his mother frequented in his childhood to get something to drink before heading back to his room in the palace is a good idea. He orders cheap liquor and nothing else, simply for the bitter pleasure of washing the sick feeling that sticks to the beginning of his throat whenever he kills someone down to his stomach. He should be used to it; he's not. 

He keeps his hood down to hide the fall of his hair, keeps the mask he wears around the lower half of his face. He learned from a very young age that being beautiful could mean his downfall - people tended to remember a face like his, and, in moments like these, he wished to be as forgettable as possible. It is only when he raises his eyes for a second to hand over the money to the tavern-keeper that the gasp of recognition sends cold fear down his spine. 

"Hey, aren't you Homura's kid?" the man says in a rough voice, and the mere  _ sound _ of Goro's mother's name is enough to make him startle badly. 

The first thought that crosses Goro's mind is,  _ this man needs to die _ . 

Perhaps that's what drives all of his actions that follow. He should run, should leave, should come up with a lie and pretend he never stepped foot in this run-down bar - but instead, something coaxes him into sitting back down in the high chair, and he pushes his hood back from his face, and asks, "You remember my mother?"

It's easy to let his voice drag into the less-educated speech he used to carry from being raised in a brothel; and the sheer  _ shock _ in the man's face answers all his questions. "It's really you! The genius actor kid. Hell, boy, it's been  _ years _ . You look like a spittin' copy of your mother. Same eyes. Never thought I'd see them again after she died, that was a real tragedy."

"I didn't know she talked about me," he says, and his heart flutters childishly, as would that of a child's who's just received a pat on the head for being well-behaved. 

"Everyone talked about you back then. Bein' snatched from the middle of a whorehouse to work for the theater! That was big news, son!"

Goro laughs. "I suppose. It didn't pay much, though. A lot of work and little money." 

"Ain't that how things are. You did a buncha plays, didn't you? Pretty boy, real smart, everyone ate that right up. Just like with your ma."

Goro knows. If there's something he knows better than anything else in this world, it's the lengths people are willing to go to in order to get their hands on something beautiful. 

"It helped pay for food," he answers in the end, tracing one scratch on the greasy table with the tip of his gloved finger. "Around here, that's the best you can hope for."

"Yeah, god knows Homura complained about that a lot."

Goro raises his eyes, stares at him from under his lashes. "Did she?"

"Havin' a kid was rough on her an' all. She was never the maternal type too, if you know what I mean." The man turns his back on Goro and starts wiping the glasses with a tattered cloth. It's a strangely hypnotic movement. Goro can feel his head tilting slightly to the side, as if he's a bird with a broken neck. "Came here often after the job, drank like a motherfucker, said stuff about how she wished she'd never had you, stuff like that. Pretty rough. You were such a good kid too, y'know. Quiet. Never heard you cryin'. But Homura was mean sometimes. We had to patch you up often. Be glad ya didn't look like whoever your father was, though - he was the one person she hated more than you." 

The knife settles inside the man's neck like a key to a lock. 

Goro still leaves the coins to pay for his drink behind, almost as an afterthought. Idly, he thanks the corpse, and takes the path back to the castle. The sun has yet to rise. 

He vomits everything in his stomach as soon as he arrives in his room, and passes out for the rest of the day. The empty eyes of his mother's corpse when he found her hanging from a noose haunt his nightmares. 

-

The letter arrives to him in the middle of Pegasus Moon when he is closeby to the borders of Faerghus, finishing a campaign. It's brought over by Jose and a harsh winter wind, cutting and painful. 

It is jarring, to see the familiar face of the young boy who seems to have changed not at all in five years. 

"Long time no see, mister!" Jose says, looking serene but pleased. He appears detached from the war, from the chaos, from everything around him, as he always has. There are snow crystals piling up on his silver hair, making him appear somewhat like an angel. "It's very cold."

The handwriting on the envelope makes Goro want to die. 

"Indeed, Jose," he says with a choked voice. "It is cold. I'm afraid I have no flowers to give you - they don't grow in this weather."

"That's okay, mister. I got to see the snow."

Jose leaves on his small carriage with a wave and a sweet "Good work!", and Goro is left to walk back to his room alone, feet dragging at the snow piling up around him. 

The letter reads, 

_ Goro,  _

_ Tell me what you want.  _

_ I mean this entirely, from the bottom of my heart.  _

_ Being this the first time I will talk to you in years, I will attempt to say most of what has crossed my mind since that night.  _

_ I do not understand why you left the monastery - why you left  _ me _ \- in order to join forces with Shido. You never stated any reason to do so, nor told me anything resembling such a decision. I wouldn't have demanded it of you then, and I won't require it of you now. Your past is your own, and so is your life and your future. If you had merely cut ties with me, I would have gathered the shards of my heart and attempted to move on with nothing but the memories of your body against mine in those late nights when we were young, when I was careless. I don't believe you ever were. I know now that you must've always been thinking ahead, planning and scheming and becoming stronger. I know now you were a killer, you  _ are _ a killer. You left our bed to commit murder, and came back to my arms before sunrise, before I had even realized you were gone. You have more blood in your hands than I can imagine. Your history is shrouded in mystery and darkness. Those closest to you know nothing - I knew even less. I knew you simply as the smart, beautiful leader of the Black Eagles, who stole my heart the moment he laid his eyes on me; but you are far more than that, for good or for bad. And still, I would have let you go, if that was all we were meant to be.  _

_ But the  _ flowers. 

_ I was infuriated, at first. How cruel of you, to leave our bed and grant me nothing but a small bundle of flowers that would die before the next moon. How heartless, to embrace me knowing that would be our last night together, and allow me to believe we would have another the following day. You left me nothing but memories and two scars on my face, Goro.  _

_ Worst of all, however, you granted me hope.  _

_ My friends and allies, who have shed blood for me, who have risked their lives for me, advised me endless times to let you go, pleaded for me to forget your memory. Haru told me about how expert of a liar you are; how you were able to comfort her about her father’s death while knowing all the while you were the one to orchestrate his passing. They told me I should forget about you, despise you, seek revenge. You left me to join the side of a bloodthirsty tyrant who has been ceaselessly wrecking havoc in the country. Your men killed precious people to me. Your strategies destroyed entire cities of mine. You are the sole reason Shido is rising as quickly as he is.  _

_ You allowed me to love you while knowing you would be gone.  _

_ I will never understand why. I have ceased my attempts to comprehend.  _

_ But I cannot let you go.  _

_ It’s been five years, and there hasn’t been a single night where I haven’t thought of you. You plague my waking and sleeping mind like an infinite dream of which I cannot wake up. Every time I glance upon the mirror, I’m reminded of you carving your mark on my face. Every time I step on a battlefield, I am torn in two: by the terror of maybe having to face you and kill you, and by the desperation to see you once more.  _

_ You have always been seeked and propositioned by many; there is no way for me to know if you have taken another lover. Perhaps you have. Perhaps this letter will sound merely like the delusions of a school sweetheart who should’ve grown out of it by now.  _

_ But something tells me you’re alone. I’ve always had quite the intuition when it comes to you (it is how I constantly manage to dodge the certain-victory plans you have laid out since the beginning of the war. I imagine it must be infuriating. I hope it is. I hope my continuously-praised ability to successfully escape your traps drives you insane. Heavens know your intelligence does that to me). Something tells me you’ve been alone since that very last night.  _

_ Something tells me the board game I gave you has yet to see a single match.  _

_ For a long time, I wondered: why leave me flowers? Why leave me anything at all, if you were going to rob me of the one thing I wanted most?  _ Love _ , they meant, and, heavens, how that hurt me. No matter how many times I’ve been advised of the opposite, there’s not a bone in my body that believes you’ve forgotten about me.  _

_ Our clashes feel like love letters sometimes. Like our old duels, on a larger scale, more grandiose stages. Lives trapped between our passion. You're not the type of man to forget or forgive. Every movement you make is a testimony of that.  _

_ I love you, Goro Akechi, and I believe you still love me. This is where my bets are going to; this is where I'm leaning for my next move.  _

_ (I can see you pursing your lips in that way you do whenever you want to call me 'careless' - go ahead. I've always found it quite charming.) _

_ I go back to my initial request. Tell me what you want. I'll give it to you. I'll give you the head of whichever person has wronged you, I'll give you all the riches in the land, I'll give you anything. Anything to have you back. I'm powerful now. Shido is strong, but solely and exclusively because he has you. There is no reason for you to stick with him - he'll never give you the honors you deserve. If you abandon him, his reign of terror will collapse as quickly as it began.  _

_ Granted, I despise the man. You know of what he did to me; you, of all people, know how deep my resentment towards him goes. Not a single one of my friends knows the origin of my scars - but you do. You have touched them and kissed them and given me scars of your own.  _

_ You are quite the world-shattering existence, you know.  _

_ This has never been about Shido. This is about you and me.  _

_ Come to my side, and I'll make you a king.  _ My _ king. _

  
  


At the end, it's signed, 

_ With all my love, my heart, and my soul,  _

_ Ren. _

  
  


A card falls from the envelope - the Lovers tarot card, old and tattered and torn at the edges, but unmistakable. 

Goro gently folds the letter back to its original shape, buries his face in his hands and cries. 

-

It is during sky patrolling with Yoshizawa that Goro is struck by the idea. 

Goro has never been a flier, by any means. He has always trusted his own feet more than any beast, and, during battle, he would rather have the agility of his body than the long-distance covering of a horse, a pegasus, or a wyvern. But that doesn't mean he's not skilled with them, and sky patrolling is a peaceful sort of chore, allowing for a beautiful view of the city that's impossible to achieve in any other circumstance. 

“My father is financing another play in the capital. All the important people are going, including His Majesty," she says, in the midst of their gossip about the imperial lords and their general incompetence. "He told me to ask you if you’d like to perform as an actor; I understand it’s been a while since you last set foot on stage, but -”

The reminder of the time in his life he spent as an actor is enough to make him grip the reins of his pegasus tighter. "That would be my pleasure," he smiles, bowing his head. 

"Wonderful! I cannot wait to watch it! He was apparently heavily impressed by your, um, speech? In the last war council."

Goro chuckles - he cannot help himself. "Oh, Yoshizawa-san, you should have seen their  _ faces _ . They looked decidedly asunder."

"You weren't wrong - from what I've heard, you said nothing but the truth. It's frustrating, sometimes, to have to cater to old men's needs when we're seeing people die under our command." Yoshizawa eyes the town underneath them with some emptiness in her gaze. "And for what, specifically? More power?"

"That is the basis of all human actions, milady."

"Is it? I have my doubts."

"What would be another motivation?"

"Justice, perhaps."

He scoffs; it's instinctive reaction. "You spent way too long talking to Amamiya at Garreg Mach if you believe in justice."

"Don't you remember what you said all those years ago, senpai? That he might just be what would bring the Alliance back to its feet?"

"That had to do with his competence, not his lofty ideals."

"Still, you had a point then. Maybe - well, maybe Amamiya-senpai had some good ideas. Better than, well -"

A shiver of terror runs down Goro's spine. "Careful, milady. Everything has ears in Enbarr."

"Not in the sky," she says, and smiles at him. She  _ is _ different than Goro remembers, now that he's properly looking at her for the first time in a long while - her hair is longer, her eyes more mature. "I think we can be safe, if just for a moment. Do you regret what you chose back then? I mean -"

"I had my reasons," he settles for answering, before his yearning leaves his heart to simmer in the open air. He is not a boy anymore. He cannot indulge in love. "Look forward to the play, Yoshizawa-san. I’ll make it worth your time," he says, and flies away. 

\- 

Goro cannot risk sending a letter. 

Ren can take his chances with sending a pages-long declaration of undying love through Jose - he's the appointed leader of the resistance and everyone’s savior. The most he'll receive are admonishments if he's caught. Goro, on the other hand, is more intensely surrounded by enemies on Enbarr than on any battlefield. No matter how desperately he wants to send a letter - and he does, heavens know he does, he has so much to say to Ren, so many things he never pronounced out loud - he cannot risk that. 

He sends a ticket for the play he'll be acting on, with not even his name on the unassuming envelope, and hopes that Ren's intelligence will work the rest of the story somehow. 

-

"I have no  _ fucking _ idea what this means," Ryuji says as he stares at the ticket on top of the table, frowning at it as if it'll grant him comprehension. 

"It's strange," Morgana admits from his perched-up position on the wooden table they use for their meetings. "It's not like we can just walk into Enbarr."

"We could go disguised!" Ann offers. 

Yusuke frowns, beautiful face drawn in concern. "But still, what does he intend with that? Parading into the enemy's city is a terrible idea, however you put it. A theater doesn't have reliable escape routes, and you'd be surrounded by foes. And that is if we take into consideration you'll even manage to enter without being caught."

Morgana crosses his arms over his chest. "I don't trust him."

Haru's smile looks strained. "None of us do, I believe."

"I do," Ren states, voice firm. 

Futaba pushes her glasses up the bridge of his nose, looks up from the multiple tomes and books spread on the floor. "It's a bad idea! A very dumb risk."

"Very well," Ren says, getting up from his tall chair. "I will go alone. I showed his reply out of consideration for all of you - but I have no intention of roping you in on this. Whatever danger I may encounter in Enbarr, and whatever consequence I have to handle because of my decision, it is mine to deal with." 

There are cries of protest as he turns his back and walks away from the room - but his mind is set. 

-

Goro's heart is straining with adrenaline in his chest for the entire first act. The thrill that takes over his body is enough to soar his voice to new heights, shiver energy through his limbs, drip power inside his veins. There is nothing that makes him feel like this. Love, for him, is power.

He doesn't have much time to carry out his plan - but it only settles calm and confidence on his shoulders. When he rushes to the backstage, in one of the few scenes where he's not an acting character, he only has a handful of minutes to climb up the backstairs. There is no space for doubt, for reassessing. Nothing. 

He deals with the guards on the entrance of the cabin swiftly, and his dagger is shoved inside Shido's mouth in a matter of seconds. There are gasps and screams from the audience - he merely pushes the blade up further, draws a steady trickle of blood. Shido's eyes are full of the instinctive human fear of death. 

"I hope you enjoyed the show," Goro whispers. "It's close to ending, too. Similar to the war, in a sense. One more clash, one more battle, and you would have Fódlan at your feet. I would have put Fódlan at your feet. You would be the emperor over all the land. How must it feel to fall from a castle you yourself built. How must it feel to be betrayed by the one person who has been kneeling at your feet since childhood. Ah, what a tragedy. Very theatric, if you think about it. Truly, I wondered for  _ so long _ how I would murder you. Many fantasies came to mind. I have always been quite the  _ creative _ child. There isn't much to do when you're a starving and homeless boy other than dream, you know. Killing you on the battlefield, hanging you from the ceiling the same way my mother did, burning you alive. Drowning, poisoning. Torturing you for hours until you begged for death. But this - ah, this came like a blessing. Indulging in pleasures while other people bleed for you has always been one of your most recurring habits. I would know. I did so myself, many times. Receiving those unassuming letters at fourteen years old, my arms still burning from the experiments you had your men do on me, sneaking out of bed to commit murder for your sake. All for your climb up to where you are now, looking down on everyone, thinking you're safe. You've never been safe. Every day you trusted me was a day closer to your death. Or maybe you never trusted me! Who would? You know the rumors. Bastard, illegitimate,  _ whoreson _ ." His laughter is loud and manic. Someone nearby screams. "You must have suspected at some point. My mother was around  _ so often _ , you must remember her eyes. Everyone says we have the same eyes, did you know? Maybe you knew. Maybe you realized. Maybe you were thinking of disposing of me first. Unfortunately, revenge never really rests. And you relied on me more than you know. How ironic, that the majestic leader of the Empire would rely on the undesired child of the prostitute who killed herself after you forced her into slavery at a brothel. Do you even remember what you did? Does it ever cross your mind? Honestly, I hope it doesn't. I hope this feels every inch like the betrayal I've always wanted it to be. I killed for you, I bled for you, and now I've come to collect the price. It's curtain call,  _ father _ ." 

He relishes the shock written on every line of Shido's expression for a moment before slipping the dagger out of his mouth and stabbing him in the chest. 

He loses control of himself in that moment. He drives the blade over and over and over again in his body, and the warmth of the blood covers his entire body, and his mind is shattered in fragments of elation and mania. He wants to tear this man apart, he wants to grasp the beating weight of his heart in his hands and crush it between his nails, he wants -

A hand wraps around his wrist and a familiar voice says, "Come on, heavens, he's  _ dead _ ," and he's being defended from the deadly slash of a sword by Amamiya Ren. 

He blinks slow, and there are drops of blood in his eyelashes, and Ren says, "Fuck,  _ run _ ," and they're running for their lives. 

"Is it just me, or are you always fleeing from certain death?" Ren inquires as he pushes Goro out of the path of an arrow. 

"It's not just you." Goro slashes someone's throat with his dagger and pulls Ren by the collar so they can keep moving. "Although it's usually far less dramatic than this. You make everything harder."

“ _ You  _ stabbed the emperor and bathed in his blood in the middle of a play in the biggest theater in Enbarr. Honestly, I pride myself in my theatrics, but you might have one-upped me, senpai.”

"Yeah, well," Goro says, taking a grappling hook from his pocket, "watch and learn, Amamiya-kun."

Flying over the confused heads of Enbarr's elite and the tips of the imperial army's swords, a hand wrapped around the wire and one clutching Ren's waist, with the blood of his deceased father on his dagger, Goro has never felt more alive. 

-

Ren’s gift for Goro is the entirety of Fódlan at his feet. 

He asks for his hand in marriage over the last battlefield - kneels on top of dried blood, takes his hand, presses a kiss to the torn fabric of his glove. His eyes are as clear and intelligent as they were on that very first day. 

"Marry me," Ren says. "Be my king."

Goro smiles, and it's genuine. 

"On your feet, Your Majesty," he answers. “It’s unbecoming for a king to kneel.”

“Even at the feet of another?”

“Just kiss me, Ren.”

They kiss over a conquered country. 


End file.
